


Not Anything

by eraemilius



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Asexuality, Brotherly Bonding, Coming Out, Gen, Post-Series, Sea Grunkles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eraemilius/pseuds/eraemilius
Summary: When Stanley brings a pair of lovely ladies back to the Stan O’ War II for a double date with his brother, the last thing he expects is for Ford to decline his offer without so much as an explanation. With no date to occupy his evening, Stan confronts his brother about his behavior, and gets an answer he was never expecting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A brief one-shot exploring the idea of Ford being asexual (tho not naming it) and “coming out” to his brother. I wrote this piece several months ago and then did a complete rehaul of the actual coming out scene because my opinion of how Ford would think of his sexuality changed quite drastically the more I dwelled on it. I think that I originally wrote this as a way of writing my own experience onto Ford, but it didn’t sit well with me. I don’t believe Ford’s early experiences uncovering his asexuality would have been anything like mine; his current understanding of it, as an adult, however, is very much drawn from my own life. In any case, this is the headcanon I have for Ford, which is based on his behavior/personality, his writings in the journal, and Alex Hirsch’s comment that his orientation is “science.” 
> 
> TL;DR: This is my attempt to write an asexual Stanford Pines that feels legitimately plausible and doesn’t explicitly conflict with canon.

Stan grinned, the cold night air filling his nose and rushing through his sinuses. He shifted his grip on the woman huddled against his left side, laughing as she giggled coyly into the fur collar of his coat. Her companion, tagging along with one hand on Stan’s right arm, nestled her chin down into the warmth of her scarf with a blush and a smile. 

Snowflakes danced in the light of the flickering lanterns on the docks.

“Here we are, ladies!” Stan announced above the sound of the wind and the waves under their feet.

“She’s all yours?” the woman huddled to his side asked, sounding overly impressed and flush with drink.

Stan grinned, chest puffed out with pride. “Mine and my brother’s! The ol’ Stan O’ War II!”

Stan laughed and eased his grip on the woman beside him, carefully stepping from the dock to the deck of the boat before reaching back to help both of the women across the gap. The waves crashed against the hull in the darkness below them.

...

Ford sat hunched over his desk in the bedroom he shared with his brother, scribbling down notes in one of the new leather bound journals he’d been keeping since he and Stan had left on their trip to the Arctic. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the journals he’d written in during his time in Gravity Falls, but it served its purpose, even if most of the pages were water-stained and salt damaged by now.

Stan had gone out a little while ago hunting for alcohol in the town where they’d docked, and Ford couldn’t entirely blame him. It had gotten bitterly cold the last few nights and a good drink would have been a welcome comfort. But Ford had been feeling reclusive, as he often did, and he’d let Stan go it alone while he stayed behind at his desk, enjoying his privacy and writing down his thoughts from the past few days.

Ford sat up slightly at the sound of voices in the hall and turned toward the closed bedroom door. Stanley...wasn’t alone. He could distinctly hear the laughter of at least two women accompanying his brother’s gruff voice. 

A knock came, loudly. And he pushed himself up to a stand, closing the journal as he left the desk.

Ford blinked as he opened the door, coming face-to-face with his brother. Stan’s cheeks were flush with cold and drink and he grinned widely back at Ford. Two women huddled on either side of Stanley, both smiling and, like Stan, also flushed with cold. They were wearing a good deal of makeup, in Ford’s opinion, and heavy coats with fur collars. “‘Ey Poindexter!” Stan cried, a little too loudly. “Look what I found in town!”

Ford stared at his brother for a moment, adjusting his glasses on his face. He didn’t reply and the two women giggled a bit nervously. One of them murmured, ‘he’s cute’, and the other whispered back ‘they’re identical!’ with a laugh.

Stan was still grinning. “These two lovely gals were lookin’ for a nice couple of fellas to take ‘em out for the evening!”

Ford had flushed slightly. He shivered at the cold air rushing into the room. His brother had left the door to the deck open behind him. “I see.”

Stan hugged the girls a little tighter to his sides and they giggled and fidgeted, acting far too young for their age, Ford thought, absently. “What d’ya say, Ford??” Stan barked above the wind. “Will ya join us?”

Ford’s attention flicked back to his brother. He hesitated. “No thank you.”

The girls’ faces immediately dropped. Stan’s grin grew a little forced. “What d’ya mean, Sixer? Of course you’ll join us, c’mon! These girls were excited to meet ya!”

“And I do regret to disappoint,,” Ford said, stepping back into the room. “But I’m afraid I’m not interested.” Stan’s grin faltered as Ford began to close the door.

“Hey! _Ford!”_

Ford closed the door with a heavy thud, leaving Stan standing in the cold with the two girls shivering at his sides.

...

Ford sat back down at his desk and picked up his pen again, hesitating before he opened the journal once more to the page he’d been writing before Stan had interrupted him.

He tried to pick up where he’d left off, writing an account of the storm (whose origins Ford suspected were highly supernatural) that they’d experienced two days prior. He couldn’t help but think Dipper would find the account extremely interesting, and was doing his best to capture the details in writing.

It felt childish in many ways, but he had to admit, he couldn’t wait to share the bulk of his writing with his grand nephew. Of course, he was already sending letters whenever possible (Stanley sent postcards). The kids hadn’t had much chance to send things back to them. They were never in one place long enough to receive mail. And as much as Ford loved writing to Dipper, he missed getting the boy’s input on his findings. He missed getting Mabel’s input as well...

Ford smiled a bit wryly to himself. Despite his unrelenting wanderlust (courtesy of thirty years dimension hopping, he supposed) and his cavalcade of unpleasant memories of Gravity Falls, Ford found that he was still missing the place and the people he’d spent time with there. 

Stan was missing it too.

...among other things, apparently.

Ford thought of his brother standing in the doorway with the two women at his sides and stopped writing mid-sentence. He knew Stan had been set on finding ‘treasure and babes’ when they’d set out on this trip, but somehow Ford had never imagined Stan would actually bring the latter ‘home’ with him. 

Ford swallowed, staring down at the half-written page on the desk in front of him. Should he have anticipated that his brother would eventually bring a woman back to the boat with him…? Was it ignorant of him not to? It wasn’t that he didn’t want Stanley to enjoy himself and the company of a date, it was just that the possibility of his brother actually _finding_ a woman and bringing her back to the Stan O’ War II had never really occurred to him.

Ford jumped as the door to the bedroom was thrown open. He twisted around in his chair as Stan barged in, brows knit, his face alight with anger. “You’re writin’ in that journal of yours?!” he barked and Ford shrunk back from him slightly. “THAT’S what’s so important you won’t go out?!”

“Stanley, now, just a moment,” Ford muttered, shifting to cover the journal with one arm as Stan crossed the room in a few quick strides. Before Ford could position himself better for defense, Stan snatched the journal out from under his arm and Ford grabbed for it, panickedly. “STANLEY!”

“I go out and find two perfectly nice girls in town!” Stan shouted, holding the journal out of Ford’s reach over his head. “And you can’t even leave your nerd research long enough to come on a date with me! Bernadette wouldn’t go out with me without a date for her sister!!”

Ford stood up stiffly, snatching the journal out of Stan’s hands. “I said ‘no thank you’!!” he yelled back. “And I’m sorry your date didn’t work out, but I have no interest in going out with you and some floozy you picked up in a cheap bar!”

“Well why not?!” Stan demanded, spreading his arms as Ford sat back down with a thud. “We’ve been on this boat with nothin’ but EACH OTHER for company for weeks now. You’re not the _least_ bit interested in spending an evening with a couple of nice girls??”

Ford turned back to the desk as he set the journal down, his expression grave. “No, Stanley,” he said stiffly, opening the book again, “I’m not.”

Stan stared down at him for a moment longer. Then he made a loud, frustrated noise and stepped across the room, dropping to sit heavily on on his bunk. Ford didn’t look up from the book. After a moment, he picked up his pen and began to write again. Silence lapsed between them.

Stan stared at his brother’s back, feeling bitter and discouraged and, admittedly, disappointed. They _had_ been nice girls, the kind of girls who could give a man a little comfort after too long spent alone out in the salt and the sea. How could Ford not have even the _slightest_ interest in a date after all this time alone at sea??

Stan frowned at the back of Ford’s head: his wiry silver hair, the tense, concentrated angle of his shoulders. A thought came to Stan that honestly hadn’t crossed his mind in many years. 

He and Ford had been close as children, but the older they’d gotten, the less they’d been open and honest about...well...personal things. Stan couldn’t much blame them. They were two young men growing up in New Jersey in the 1970s. And there were some things that just weren’t discussed. Not even between brothers. Not even between twins. Not when you were raised in a home like theirs.

Stan cleared his throat and Ford’s shoulders shifted a little, but he didn’t turn around. “Y’know, Six--uh. Ford,” Stan corrected himself, trying to be serious. “Stanford,” he added for good measure. Ford sighed in exasperation. “I know we’ve never really talked about this, but uh…” Stan trailed off, watching the back of Ford’s head, hoping for some kind of indication or acknowledgement, for Ford to stop him or correct him or confirm him without Stan having to continue. Ford gave no such consideration, so Stan just went on ahead and blurted with characteristic bluntness: “It’s alright with me if you’re gay, Ford.”

Ford’s shoulders tensed a bit, and Stan watched him, feeling awkward, wondering if he’d overstepped his bounds by bringing it up, even if he’d meant well. He really had no idea how this sort of conversation was supposed to go, but knowing him, he’d probably done it wrong. 

He was about to push himself up for an awkward exit when Ford muttered, quietly, “I’m not.”

Stan hesitated, then sunk back against the wall again, still watching his brother’s back. When Ford didn’t elaborate, Stan tried uncertainty, “...are ya’ sure?”

Ford’s whole body visibly tensed. “I’m not... _anything_ , Stanley,” he said, an edge coming into his voice when he turned around in his chair. Agitation showed on his face for a moment, but the expression slipped away upon meeting Stan’s eyes. He breathed out and glanced away, fixing his glasses. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have explained myself earlier. Look. I’m just...sincerely not interested in joining you on a date. Regardless of the sex or gender or species of the date.”

Stan raised a brow. “...Species?”

Ford sighed and shrugged lamely, glancing back at his notes again. Stan studied the back of Ford’s head, waiting for him to go on, but he didn’t. “What did you mean by that, though?” he asked, trying to tread a bit cautiously. “‘Not anything?’”

Ford glanced back at him again, looking slightly haggard now, like this was a subject he had no interest in discussing. “I...don’t know, Stanley,” he said. “I can’t very well admit to being gay any more than I can admit to being straight. I...don’t know what I am. Nothing, I suppose. I’ve just never been interested in dating--or any of the activities that accompany it, for that matter.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stan grinned a little helplessly, trying and failing to understand. “But in high school, you were always talking about wanting girls to notice you!”

Ford smiled weakly. “Yes, Stanley,” he said. “Because I thought I was supposed to. _You_ were.” Ford turned to better face Stan, stretching one arm over the back of the chair. Stan watched him, still uncertain of what to make of this, and Ford smiled with subtle amusement at his brother’s cluelessness. “The way you talked about girls seemed like the way I was SUPPOSED to. So I did it too. Made Mom and Dad happy. Even convinced myself for a while that it was the truth, or, it’d become the truth, eventually.” He shrugged. “But, eventually, I just...forgot...”

Stan just stared for a moment. “You...forgot about what? About girls?”

Ford looked slightly embarrassed at that, uncertain. “Well...I…suppose,” he admitted. “At least, I forgot I was supposed to...think about them. There were so many other things on my mind, I didn’t have much time for thinking about women. Or men. The whole idea.” He scratched at the back of his neck lightly, lowering his arm from the back of the chair.

Stan watched his brother. He had to admit, relationships were something he and Ford had never really talked about. His brother had been an awkward nerd in high school, consumed by his studies and his books and his games, so it hadn’t seemed unusual to Stan that he took little interest in girls aside from trying and failing to get dates for dances. And he knew so little of his brother’s life after high school, he’d just...assumed.

“Sorry,” Stan muttered.

Ford glanced up and at him, looking slightly baffled.

Stan glanced away. “‘Bout those girls. Sorry for bringing ‘em by without a warning.”

Ford smiled weakly, faintly amused. “It’s alright, Stanley. I suppose in your own way, you were trying to do me a favor. I’m sorry I blew you off without an explanation...” He lowered his hand back into his lap and breathed a small sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this. Not in so many words, at least.”

Stan slowly sat forward on the bed, the springs creaking beneath him. “So, like...you’ve got _zero_ interest? In...y’know?”

Ford blinked at him, fixing his glasses on his face. It seemed to take him a minute to infer Stan’s meaning, though his brother’s eyebrow wiggling helped to convey it. “I...I can understand the _benefits_ from a purely scientific standpoint,” he managed, “but it doesn’t make the whole idea any more appealing to me...”

Stan stared at Ford for a moment before sputtering out a laugh. “The _benefits_? From a _purely scientific_ standpoint?”

Ford’s face flushed. “Stanley.”

“I’m sorry,” Stan laughed. “It’s just...sort of hard for me to wrap my head around. But I guess it makes sense. You did manage to be about as different from me as you possibly could.”

Ford smiled weakly, though his face was still reddish hued. “It’s not a choice, Stanley, I’m not celibate, I--”

“Y’just don’t care,” Stan said.

“And as a result, I tend not to think about it much,” Ford admitted quietly. “It’s easy for me to forget not everyone shares my feelings...I honestly never expected you to bring a woman back to the boat, and I _certainly_ never expected you to bring one back for me. I suppose I should have. Expected it, I mean.” Ford hesitated, turning to look down at his journal, his unfinished passage, then he turned back to Stan, blurting: “I could accompany you, I suppose. It wouldn’t hurt. I can at least be social, if not exactly a date.”

Stan grinned at Ford’s offer to ‘be social’ and waved a hand dismissively. “They went home, Ford. What’s done is done.” Ford’s shoulders fell, but Stan settled back against the wall on his bunk. “Besides, I don’t much feel like going back out in the cold now.” He patted at his hip with one hand. “Arthritis started acting up.”

“Is it?” Ford asked, his interest piquing. He stood up and stepped over to the wall beside the bunks as his brother turned his head to watch him, blinking. “You know,” Ford went on, tugging open a drawer and digging through it. “I think I have a remedy for arthritis around here somewhere that I obtained in Dimension 84-R while hiding out in a remote mining town…”

Stan smiled at his brother’s back as Ford rummaged through a mess of papers and knicknacks. “When was this?”

“Oh, about ten or so years ago, I’d guess,” Ford continued, the vulnerability gone from his voice, replaced with his usual confidence. “I had just entered Dimension 84-R and found myself surrounded by a curious race of small, rodent-like locals, whose primary source of income was the mine to the North of their little town and who were quite adept when it came to medicinal arts…”

Stanley smiled to himself, closing his eyes and listening as his brother wandered down a tangent about his experience in a far off place with a strange and unfamiliar people. So Ford had no interest in women. Men. Anything. Stan figured there was probably a word for that, though he didn’t know what it was, and he doubted if Ford even cared. Funny, though, how little it felt like he knew about his brother, in spite of their closeness in childhood. 

Thirty years apart had taken its toll on his understanding of his brother, but...they _were_ together now, and though it was slow going, Stan was beginning, bit by bit, to come to know the person his brother had become. Of course, there were some things he would sincerely never understand about Stanford. And this was probably one of them. But...

He opened his eyes to find Ford standing over him with a small jar in one hand, his brows knit. “Stanley,” he said, characteristic annoyance bleeding into his tone, “are you even listening?”

Stan smiled up at him. “Always.”


End file.
